After an unexpectedly long night, we (unsurprisingly) woke up pretty late. That's becoming something of a theme, I guess. In any case, agenda item #1 was the Musee Mechanique. Or rather, it was finding a new hotel, dropping our stuff there, then proceeding to the Musee Mechanique. After an urgent coffee break, we commenced the search. Only too discover that the majority of SF hotels were either overpriced (i.e., no artist painted room, but same price), full, or legally disallowed to rent rooms for less than a week. Love those legislators. Every day, in every way, making our lives more and more miserable. Anyway, we eventually found an internet cafe, and I managed to get a room. Coincidentally, it was in the Olympic Hotel. Wherever you go, you arrive at home, I guess. And what's more, a year or so before, I'd stayed there with Marie. Which I didn't realize until we arrived. The place is nice, albeit not nearly as classy as the website would suggest (kudos to the designer!) and *cheap*!. At $45 a night for two, I've stayed at hostels that cost more. And smelled way worse. The AYH in DC being a case in point. Summertime there smells like the boys' locker room at my old high school. But I digress. Eventually, we made it back to Fisherman's Wharf, and the Musee Mechanique. Where Carrie went throught quarters like it was a casino. I can't blame her - it's one of the greatest "attractions" I've ever visited. A room full of custom-built mechanical toys that act out scenes - some quite complex - with accompaniment. Carrie's favorite was the farm. Mine's still the carnival, which Ernie Gehr fashioned into his poignantly beautiful video Cotton Candy. The one DVD I'd actually watch over and over, I think. In any event, the entire museum is Truly Unique & Beautiful. Here you see Carrie "playing" Thimble Theater, which always reminds me of the Joseph Cornell film of the same name.
Here, she's playing another, in which you spin a wheel, causing the machine to run through a list of possible professions. The woeful expression on Carrie's face reflects her first result: school teacher. Which was not what she'd hoped for. Number two was also suboptimal: beautician. Let's hear it for third careers! My one try landed me lion-tamer. Which seems a bit grandiose for a fellow of my temperment. So be it.
Carrie liked the "dirty" lingerie pictures too. But the funniest bit was the fellow who horned in on the leftovers when she tired of the show and we moved on.
Next destination was the Giant Camera (camera obscura) at the Cliff House, the former home of the Musee Mechanique as well. Unfortunately, I forgot to "call in advance" as recommended. And it was closed. Goddamn. Oh well, there's an excuse for another visit.
Consolation prize: we walked down to Ocean Beach and flew kites we'd purchased for $1.99 in Chinatown the day before. Carrie was pretty successful, getting hers into the air for a pretty good spell.
They were pretty squirrely, with a tendency to skew off to one side or the other unpredictably, and smack into the ground instead of pulling up into the sky. But Carrie's got a good bit of experience of flying kites. And figured out how to set these up properly. Even without instructions. Not even in Chinese!
Unfortunately, I was less successful. My little blue and red bird broke his wing almost immediately, and had to be put down. Sorry fella.
As usual, MUNI was unconscionably slow on the return. We literally saw 10 38 Geary buses - 6 of them idling! - before one deigned to pick up any passengers. Eventually, we made it to the Mission, and Valencia Street. We wandered around for a bit, visiting a great vintage store, with a beaver (?) diorama from the California Academy of Sciences that Carrie and I both admired (very reasonable at $500). I got dueling McGovern and Nixon buttons from a bin. And then we'd killed enough time to go to ATA for Other Cinema. The program was Jackie Gleason on LSD! or rather Otto Preminger's Skidoo!, presented by Christian Divine, a fellow Berkeley grad. Here you see my old friend Steve Polta hawking tickets. There was plenty of bud and pineapple & artichoke pizza for early arrivals. And lots of familiar faces.
Including Bryan Boyce, who I last saw at the New York Underground Film Festival. The program was in two parts: ephemera, then the film itself.
Christian (pictured here) introduced the lot of it, and the program began with an excerpt from Hugh Hefner's Playboy After Dark TV show. Apparently, Preminger was a friend of Hefner's, and he and Harry Nilsson (who composed the soundtrack, famously singing the credits) made an appearance. Preminger wearing a lime-green Nehru suit with a gold chain. And looking like the villian from a Bond spoof. Unfortunately, we had to leave before the feature, because we were off to meet Carrie's old friend Cortt...
... at a hip-hop show at the DNA Lounge. Where I'd never been before. I really liked the second act, PIgeon John, who had a great sense of humor. And we drank a bit. And I actually danced. And we drank a bit more. And eventually made it back to the hotel...
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